Fabulous news first: Jakob has received the student of the month award for respecting the school/class rules and people and also for his peace keeping initiatives. This is an incredible honour and I could not be more proud of him. I'm trying hard to push down the thoughts of "My Jakob? Peace Keeping Initiatives? You mean the 6 year old who lives in my house who is currently on the floor having a massive fit because he's sucked at at Guitar Hero? AFTER ONLY ONE TRY. That one?" Wow, crazy.

Another piece of fabulous news: I found in my mailbox a cheque from the city for $1,356 because we did not kill the city-owned tree at the front of our house when we renovated THE BACK OF OUR HOUSE. One credit card paid off, healthy payment on a second card. Sweet. Of course no interest, and I almost feel like they deducted a few dollars as their fee for kindly hanging on to it for us for no reason.

And the final bit of fabulous news, the magazine is done and I can now go to bed before midnight because god knows I need my beauty sleep. Make-up can only go so far. And I can rename the voodoo doll for who ever pisses me off next.

So...I went into St. Thomas this past weekend to visit my mother. My mother and I have a complicated relationship, based on a sense of mutual dislike for many years - though she will deny it, while not taking to me for years. To get a sense, I started putting together my feelings since I was completely cut off from the internet while on the train:

I am currently sitting on a train without internet access, having just had a glass of mediocre Spanish wine….but it was only $5 so how can I complain? I am also confined to my seat with a full bladder.

I would say this is the most unenjoyable train ride to London I have ever experienced. I had visions of working on my photoshop assignment but that was a pipe dream. The train shakes like a $3 vibrator and I have nowhere to place a mouse. And try highlighting a chain link fence without a mouse or stylus…I dare you.

I’m off to London, well really St. Thomas, to visit my mother because of concerns she might be dementing or to see if her increasingly disintegrating memory is the direct result of an extremely poor diet lacking in anything nutritious, especially proteins, but heavy on Tim Horton’s muffins. Not good when you’re a diabetic. Plus she called me quite upset asking me to spend time with her, she felt like she was being bullied and not listened to.

I have been dreading this trip. My last experience with my mother was while visiting my brother in Edmonton and upon return I had accepted that if I never saw her again, I would be fine with that. But over a short period of time my bitterness wore off and I began to feel more concern for her welfare. I called occasionally to be caustically told that she would never call me again, that way I could call her when I was available. Meanwhile she systematically calls all my siblings every night of the week. I struggle most with that here is this woman who was nasty to me from birth until mid 20s when our relationship evolved into more ambivalence and here she is old, memory shot, and now expecting me to drop everything and come stay with her, to be the shoulder she needs right now.

It’s hard to put aside my bitterness.

I'll continue writing about my weekend and the dysfunctional relationship shared by mother and daughter later as I promised my little scholar and his brother (who was asked to the SCHOOL DANCE BY A GRADE 8 GIRL - man I am not ready for this) I would take them to the Sufferin' Mall to check out Halloween costumes.

I'm sitting here drinking a glass of wine and pouring through all the goodies found in my Clinique gift bag from Holt Renfrew. A cornucopia of treasures.

I had visions of having the most indulgent afternoon, at least until 3pm but it was not to be because my cell phone began ringing incessantly just past 1:30. It's now 8:02, I'm on my third glass of wine and bordering on a nervous breakdown...and the name of my voodoo doll has been changed to Garth.

And it's snowing. I'm not prepared for the plummeting temperatures. I'm not even prepared for Halloween. I don't have the energy to hoist my camera and take a picture of the most awesome spider decoration every, purchased for $20 from Shoppers Drug Mart.

It's 9:00 pm and I'm counting the seconds to put Jakob to bed.

I have to say that I am the QUEEN of time management.

Not only have I VOTED like all my self respecting anti-Harper friends and family (at least I'm keeping my fingers crossed) but I have also designed a logo for a truffle goddess, in fact 2 versions, revised an ad for a certain magazine that will NOT go away and two other options because they just couldn't be happy with the original version...oh no, because let's want other options for an ad that is perfectly fine but dick around getting final revisions to me on everything else. For of course I want to stay up all night tomorrow. Wow, where did that rant come from? But really, I need my beauty sleep, it's not like I can photoshop myself before going to work. And honestly, it's seriously impacting my blogging. Seriously.

I also began sketching ideas for a painting that needs to be finished in 4 weeks, I should say needs to be DRY in 4 weeks, for the office United Way auction. Then made soft & hard tacos for the family, accommodated a play date for Jakob, made popcorn and I'm not even done yet.

But let's change blog direction, let's touch briefly on my relationship with my contractor. I email, he emails, Paul emails, he emails - it is now left up to Paul to schedule a date for him to come through the house...because I'm SICK of him. So this is where we are right now...waiting to schedule a time for him to come through and assess and hopefully correct. Hopefully. Because you know the warranty ran out forever ago and it's only his big generous heart that has him coming this final time and the sound I hear is the clock ticking and not the feeble blip of his pacemaker.

This is the day where I wish my little neighbourhood shop sold lottery tickets because I am positive this is my lucky day. Earlier this afternoon I did a quick run to the Sufferin Mall because Lucy my beloved cleaner was here and she's really chatty and it's hard to clean when your chatting but on my run I forgot a couple of critical things like leaf bags and feminine products. So after returning home I go to get the mail and what do I find on my front porch? - no NOT maxipads, those were in my mailbox in a giftbox from Shoppers Drug Mart - LEAF BAGS from some incredibly sweet real estate agent who wants me to sell my house. How fabulous was that! Satchel thought that by accepting the leaf bags we were morally obligated to sell our house RIGHT NOW, so I clarified for him by saying "No, you're just morally obligated to use the bags to clean up all the leaves on our property RIGHT NOW you little brain-changing sweetheart."

Now that it is 9:30 and not one edit has come through, it's time for me to put Jakob to bed and throw the big smelly one into the shower.

It is a sad time when I am too busy to blog - there are so many moments each day when I think "must tell the world about the craziness that is Jakob." or "must NOT mention how I had a breakdown yesterday and screamed FUCK OFF at the children as they continue to fight and wrestle and say nasty things to each other."

I am so busy right now that with any luck I will actually make the Friday deadline and can then sleep for 12 hours straight and boot up my computer without wanting to weep.

This will also give my eyes a chance to learn how to refocus again.

The 12-year-old changing brain is pushing me over the edge!

Last night all the first floor phones went missing, including the swishy brand new one. The only person who actually gets/makes phone calls (because his parents are phone-phobic) is Satchel.

Paul went ballistic when the base starting ringing at 9:45 pm and he couldn't find a phone to answer. After I finished putting Jakob to bed I came downstairs and hit the locator button - first phone FOUND, buried in the couch where Satchel had been talking to his two friends.

Pushed the next locator button and followed the beeping to...Satchel's backpack. He had it buried deep inside, under the foul gym clothes. This means he took the phone to school. But why? It's not a cell phone, the range isn't even that great.

So up Paul and I go to talk to him...he protests, he didn't do it. He didn't put the phone in the couch or the backpack. Why would he put the phone in the backpack? That wouldn't even make sense! Why do we always blame him for everything.

hmmm...because it was in YOUR backpack?

Life is completely unfair, neither phone was his fault, we're always blaming him, Daddy's retarded.

That was how he ended his argument.

I wanted to end the discussion with yeah, well you smell bad. But being the more mature of the retarded lot of us, resisted.

There is a new girl in town and her name is Sharp, plus a few number - maybe some letters. But her measurements are OUTSTANDING. She's 37" and waifishly thin, how does one compete with that?

I have lost all three of my guys to her as she sits mocking me subtly on the coffee table - confident with her power to dominate.

Outside of stealing her batteries I have nothing to hold against her.

But the payout is sweet - for I now have a peaceful bedroom without sand in the bed and there is no reason for the boys to ever hang out in my room again!



The painting above Sharpy is one by Paul of his brother Dan while he was at NSCAD.

For our anniversary I snuck it out of the house and had it reframed. Picking it up 2 days after having had surgery and feeling quite proud and warrior like as I carried it into the house. I wasn't completely thrilled with the framing, I had hoped for a bit more of a shadow box effect to emphasize the ragged edges of the paper and I should have opted for more matte - but he loved it and it's so nice to have crazy old Dan hanging over us.

Don your helmets, WWIII is about to begin!

Paul responded to _____ and it was not a warm fuzzy email like the one I originally wrote.

I cannot wait until this is all over.

Had a response from my contractor yesterday and I am counting the days down to when I never have to deal with him, speak to him, email him, THINK about him again.

He is the very definition of an ass (as Jakob would profile him, A.S.S. ASS!). I could tell from his deer-in-the-headlights expression he was not happy running into me a few weeks ago but when I emailed him to confirm his end of September start time on the deficiency list:

Hi ___,

Paul noticed that the bathtub faucet is moving and is concerned that water is getting behind it - can we add to the deficiency list?

I know you mentioned work was slowing down end of September, do you think you'll be able to come beginning of October?

Best regards,
Meg

He responded with this:

I don't mind repairing the faucet. But this is not a deficiency item . The deficiency list was completed prior to you releasing final payment. And like some of the work you requested are our last meeting, a loose faucet is not generally covered under warranty work. You must keep in mind that the warranty period expired a long time ago. I don't mind completing minor repair work even though the warranty period has expired as an act of good faith. But I cannot expected to correct items that are damaged as a result of normal wear and tear for free. I will have to have a plumber in to examine and correct the problem.

I think he must be forgetting that the reason we have gone long beyond the one year warranty period is because he either a) ignored our emails/calls, b) claimed he was too busy, c) was going to time it with another job which fell through and d) begged off for time because of a personal problems.

And Paul's very valid concern is that the faucet is loose because it was poorly put in originally (like other plumping fixtures that had to be corrected) and not that it has loosened in one year through normal wear and tear.

I would love to ask Mike Holmes what do you do when the work is done reasonably well, at a very high financial cost, but your contractor acts like a high school bully ever time you question his decisions?

Anyway, back to stabbing toothpicks into my voodoo doll.

God help me. I'm home with the flu and Jakob is channeling Jimmy Hendrix and I have my adopted son over who every 3 minutes says he's hungry.

I say "GO HOME! YOU'VE GOT FOOD THERE I'M POSITIVE."

He's still here.

And I'm popping advil like we're facing a chemical famine.

I think I need to change my title - meg's reno just isn't doing it for me. I feel like lipstick needs to be applied, in the metaphorical sense.

Something to ponder.

Something to distract me while I obsess about Satchel (yes, the one who's brain is changing) going to an afternoon school dance, his first. One that he has INVITED A GIRL TO because "Mom, do you want me to be a wallflower?"

Ummm...yes?

He is answering all my questions about her with "I'm not comfortable with this line of questioning." So I turned off the interrogation light to make him a little more comfortable, but still nothing - outside of her name!

He's even going home on his lunch hour so that he can shower and change into something cool - an outfit he spent nearly 15 minutes picking out last night.

This is so unlike him - he's never cared about what he puts on (as long as it's not a dress or something Dad picked out). He's even put his clothes on backwards and said "it's fine Mom."

I might just have to take a walk over to the school today, just to horrify him. I call that responsible parenting.

I'm great!

There were no cancer cells so I don't need radiation and it was the non-aggressive kind of tumour so I don't need further surgery!

I feel light as air.

And slightly drunk.

And exhausted.

And giddy!

But I have to say the 4th floor at Princess Margaret Hospital is as depressing as the basement where patients go for radiation treatments.

This is how I pass the time with Paul while waiting for Dr. McCready in dismal little hospital rooms, I pretend I'm the sound effects person for the 1960s episodes of Star Trek.

I was laughing so hard I had tears running down my face when the doctor came in (not Dr. McCready, a young unknown doctor) - he must have thought I was either emotionally wrecked or insane...especially if he caught me imitating the swoosh of the automatic doors or the boop boop boop of the medical equipment.

I see my oncologist this afternoon to find out the results from my last surgery and I have to tell you, I'm completely agitated...and to make me really fly off the handle there is a beeping going on in the office. A high-pitched beeping similar to a smoke detector with a dying battery attached to a loud speaker system.

Last night I decided the best course of action would be to stay busy but of course this is the cue for Jakob to follow me around with his little guitar hero speaker fresh from a box of Mini Wheats...it makes the most hideous noise and the designer and manufacturer should be strung up by red licorice with at least a hundred of the little darlings blaring so that they can truly appreciate their most wondrous creations and what we parents go through daily.

I kept warning Jakob that I was feeling cranky but that just made him want to stick closer to me. And then it happened, I snapped and told him to F*&* Off. I kind of felt bad about it (but not really) and did apologize but then continued snapping for the rest of the evening. And Arthur with his constant begging and whining and yelling and need to trip me? well it's truly amazing he's still alive.

Fortunately no children or pets were sold on ebay last night - I managed to collect myself by sitting on the back step with a glass of wine while Jakob had a freezie until Paul came home.

So wish me luck, because I swear I'll cry if I'm told I have to have another surgery.

When Paul's away, Meg must play...with a little help from Kim and a lovely bottle of an Italian red (thank you Kim!).

Last night we managed to make my weekend plan a reality by moving all the living room furniture into the dining room and the dining room furniture into the living room. Both spaces work so much better with even our furniture standing out more (in a good way, it is getting kind of old) - and this new configuration should also cut down the damage caused by whacking our legs on the coffee table by at least 99%!

Once I take a few pictures that do the rooms justice (meaning tidying them up and adding flowers, in essence fluffing) I'll post them.

And now Paul's reaction: "I love it, I think it looks great."

He can stay.

First, thank god for make-up and photoshop and cold bottles of beer stuffed into my bra (only ONE mind you and I emptied it first). Just wanted to get that out.

I ran into MY CONTRACTOR and the look of panic on his face was priceless! You could sense his mind racing with "what do I do, it's Meg, but I'm trapped, she's right in front of me, I haven't responded to her emails in months...maybe she won't notice me...pushing a baby stroller..."

But notice him I did. And to make him feel bad told him I had a lumpectomy 2 weeks ago and am still recovering...just to make him squirm. Because nothing makes a contractor squirm like woman troubles talk. I should have brought up how bad the menstrual cramps are these days, must be because I'm closing in on menopause.

And hey, I have a dental hygienist to recommend.

He has PROMISED me that the deficiency list will be taken care of at the end of this month.

So a Jakob story. I've taken to leaving him little notes in his lunches, thinking that it would make him happy. But there was a major flaw in my thinking because after all, this is Jakob I'm doing it for.

Today's note said: Have a GREAT day Jakob! Love Mommy xoxoxox

Jakob surprised ME with a returned note written on the opposite side of the paper:
MOMMY this is really messed up. Stop GivEing NotEs to me plese.

He did soften the blow by adding 4 hearts and 3 stars. I think I might just have to tuck this into the school booking I'm keeping him for him to read when he's 30...so the mother guilt will last that much longer.

Jesus - what a morning.

I'm surprised I made it in to work alive.

First - I'm all dressed up, I'm actually wearing a skirt. This vintage skirt by comrags, really beautiful, and to complete the visual a fitted black sweater with 3/4 length sleeves, my disco ball necklace, diamond earrings, black cardigan with big black buttons and 3/4 length sleeves with my gigantic black flower brooch attached, and my new Cole Haan black big square toed pumps with white stitching and silver buckle. I look insanely cute - kind of like a 1950s secretary in a Hitchcock film heading out to a funeral...about to be attacked by birds.

As I walk to the subway station I hear a clatter and a button pops off my cardigan. I pick it up and continue walking. I decide to get a coffee before heading into the subway station. As I'm pouring a bit of the coffee out so I can add cream, my heavy purse drops off my shoulder and coffee splashes all over me. I wipe myself off. I leave and walk to the subway and take a sip and a good portion more spills down me. I have accidentally put two plastic lids and an incredible amount of coffee pooled between those two lids before soaking my clothes and my shoes.

I get on the subway, big delay and now I'm late for work after having actually left the house early for the first time in really...forever. I'm walking from the subway to the office and my shoe heel gets stuck in the sidewalk and I walk right out of it feeling the sliminess of public sidewalk under my naked foot. My beautiful skirt is a bit too big and keep spinning around me with the zipper scraping into my skin leaving a lovely red ring.

I finally make it to my desk and the person I'm currently having issues with is USING MY PHONE. Looking at all my stuff on my desk. Picking up my ipod penquin speaker.

Then boom, huge stomach cramp and my period starts...EARLY.

This truly has become THE DAY FROM HELL.

I go to sew my big button on and it's chipped, making me nearly irrational.

My TDFH continued after leaving work with missing subways, missing buses and having an insane woman pretend to be my new dental hygienist. We spoke about art and she says she likes two artists only: Robert Bateman and Trisha Romance. That alone proves how whacked she is. And just in case you are not familiar with the work of Trisha Romance, I will include a little sample. Oh and check out her official site, because it's even better listening to the embedded music play while admiring the work.


While beginning the cleaning she starts insulting my teeth. "Your enamel is terrible! And it must be a result of all the acidic fruits, juices, pops, beer, etc. that you (DO NOT) drink. And you are totally ineffective in the way you floss. And what is that bump on your tongue?! I'm going to measure it and record it in your charts. How long have you had it." FOREVER.

So my mouth is a mess. It's amazing I can bite into some horrible acidic piece of fruit - in fact any sort of food really.

Her eyes did glass over a bit when the dentist popped in, checking my teeth and proclaiming them as GREAT AS EVER.

Then she went back to cleaning and complaining. "No more lemon in your water. Look at how jagged the bottoms of your teeth are. Do you use your teeth to break tags of clothes?" Sometimes, you got me there crazy lady!

Once home I promptly poured myself a glass of highly acidic red wine, swished it around my mouth and thought about buying myself a teeth bleaching kit and leaving the tray in all night just so I could call her up tomorrow with all the eroding details.

With determination and nary a drop of alcohol in my system, I tore the surgical strips off my lumpectomy incision to find...that my oncologist/surgeon did a far better job sewing me up than I thought he had!

I was very impressed with the thin straight line he had sewn because what from what I thought I could see through the near transparent strips was a pretty nasty jagged line - but whew, that was just the dried blood trying to encourage me to shed a few pounds.

What I'm having troubles with now is the amount of pain I'm in. I can't ride my bike, walking hurts, stairs hurt even more. The pain in my nipple is more than I can bear which I understand is because it's the nerve centre of the breast. I'm completely exhausted since it's impacting my sleep and more than a little bit nauseous.

I am so glad that I have my follow-up appointment on the 23rd so I can get a bit of reassurance that all is healing well and ALSO that the pathology continues to show the mass was benign and keeping my fingers crossed that I don't need yet another surgery.

I think I need to revise my header to include mother of pre-teen boy who's brain is changing.

This was our conversation the other day:

"Mom, I just want to let you know that because I'm 12 and in middle school, well, I'm changing. My BRAIN IS CHANGING. And I'm probably not going to listen, I'm not just going to do what you tell me, I'm going to think about it and maybe I won't do it. Like I don't care if my room is a mess. And you probably won't like my attitude, but you'll just have to get used to it."

I can't wait until I sit down my little family and tell them "that my brain is changing too. And it's called MENOPAUSE. And you should be afraid, very afraid."

The inscription on the ring Paul gave me on our anniversary.

What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.
Ralph Waldo Emerson

Recovery is taking longer than I had hoped but I managed to distract myself for a few moments in the Umbra store (and with the help of Tylenol and Gravol) on Queen St.

And the most beautiful things became mine.

Things like this acrylic tree which is ever so much more beautiful on my dresser with my necklaces...


...and the garbage can which I am currently using as an umbrella stand in my kitchen.

17 years ago today this nut job married me and we have lived blissfully ever since. Blissfully despite my mother, my in-laws, 2 kids, 6 cats, 1 major renovation that will go on FOREVER, breast cancer, miscarriages, job changes, financial difficulties...hmmm, what else?


Anyway, he still can't get enough of me. Nor I him.

Today was spent, well, with me sleeping. Fortunately we were invited to my brother Bob's house for dinner so I did bring a bottle of fine champagne to pop to celebrate. And celebrate like teenagers we did. And now, couple of Tylenol's later, back to bed.

I'm crazy like that.